


Hammer To Fall

by WonkyWarmaiden



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonkyWarmaiden/pseuds/WonkyWarmaiden
Summary: It's the end of the world and Pratt's stuck underground with Jacob Seed for the forseeable future. It's gonna go great.





	1. Day 1

Pratt is helping a group of Jacob’s men carry crates of canned food into the bunker when the sirens start blaring. Everyone looks to the sky as the birds that were happily chirping in the trees nearby take flight, darting away quickly. Pratt sees Jacob’s truck hauling ass up the road to the bunker just as a bright flash appears on the horizon.

Jacob screeches to a halt, his truck tires kicking up dust as he hops out. “Everybody inside,” he yells but he’s barely audible over the sudden rush of sound that hits them, sending everyone stumbling.

Pratt’s ears are ringing as he gapes at the huge mushroom cloud in the distance. “Oh God, it-it’s happening,” he says. The Peggies are screaming; some saying hurried prayers, others crying and clutching at one another.

All Pratt can do is think about his mom in Missoula; about Joey and Whitehorse, trapped like him somewhere out in the county.

The air in Pratt’s lungs disappears and he falls to his knees. His cheeks are wet and he can’t get air in, can’t breathe with the knowledge that he’s never going to see any of them again. Strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him up and inside the bunker, away from the burning red of the sky. He suddenly realizes that this will be the last sky he sees for years to come and starts to struggle.

The arms around him tighten. “Staci, it’s too late,” Jacob says steadily next to his ear as the bunker door slams shut and the world disappears from view.

\---

Pratt stays catatonic for the rest of the day. He sits in Jacob’s office and watches him go over inventory lists. The soldier is muttering to himself and squinting down at the papers like Pratt’s abuelo used to squint at the newspaper when he forgot his glasses. 

“I should’ve slit your throat,” Pratt says finally, voice rough from disuse and grief.

Jacob doesn’t even bother looking at him, just pencils something into his list and moves on. “And where would that have gotten you?”

“Not here.”

“So dead.”

“Better than this,” Pratt says with a gesture around the room. 

Jacob hums distractedly. “I hear radiation poisoning is a bitch, Peaches.”

Pratt scuffs his boot on the concrete floor and stares at the air vent above his head. “At least it’s quicker,” he says. “Wouldn’t be stuck down here for a decade with you and your merry band of assholes.”

Yesterday, Pratt never would have shit-talked Jacob to his face but the end of the world seems to have snapped something loose inside him; that snarky jackass that had been buried since the helicopter crash gasping back to the surface for Pratt to use as a buffer while he tries to process everything. Maybe Jacob will be merciful and just shoot him for disobedience.

But Jacob just stands from behind his desk walks and over the row of filing cabinets lined up along the wall, opening one of the drawers and sliding the inventory lists back into their folder. He retrieves another stack of papers from the cabinet and carries them over to his desk, sitting down to get back to work.

Pratt feels anger prickling up at Jacob’s lack of concern, it cuts through the numbness Pratt has been sitting in all day; everything is gone and Jacob doesn’t seem to give a shit. Pratt’s jaw clenches and he petulantly swipes the plastic cup full of pens and pencils off the corner of the desk. He and Jacob both watch as they scatter across the floor, the cup bouncing away and rolling to a stop against the closed door.

Pratt feels a modicum of satisfaction.

“This it, Pratt?” Jacob asks, leaning back in his chair and staring critically at Pratt. “This all you can take? Thought you were stronger than that.”

Pratt stands suddenly, sending his folding chair clattering to the floor. “You gonna ‘cull the herd’, Jacob?” he hisses mockingly, throwing caution to the wind. “Fucking do it then, you fucking inbred piece of shit. Nothing matters now!”

Instead of a gun, Jacob pulls out the music box. He slowly starts to crank the little key on the side as he keep staring.

“Coward,” Pratt spits.

Jacob opens the music box and Pratt’s world fades away, replaced by red and running and Only You.

Only Jacob. Everyone else is gone.


	2. Day 2

Pratt wakes up in an unfamiliar room with his entire body feeling like one large bruise.

It’s a familiar pain, the only part of the conditioning that ever feels real. Everything else is ephemeral, like it’s just a disturbingly detailed dream instead of a training exercise; one where he’s ordered to kill Rook over and over again until Jacob is pleased.

Except Rook isn’t here, and Pratt never liked that asshole anyway. Especially once Rook said yes to John and his general dislike for the man morphed into full-blown hatred. Rook had a chance to fight back and that fucking coward abandoned everyone who depended on him and joined the enemy instead.

So in truth, Jacob’s conditioning is mostly just helping Pratt work through some dark shit. And who knows, maybe in a decade or so he’ll get to sink a knife into the real Rook’s throat.

\---

“Does your family know?”

Jacob doesn’t bother to look away from dismantling his rifle. “Know what?” he asks, setting the pieces carefully onto the cloth in front of him.

Pratt finishes counting the pistols in the armory, making sure to write the number down on his notepad before he answers. “That you’re still conditioning me to kill Rook.”

That earns him a glance from Jacob and for half a second Pratt’s sure he crossed some invisible line. First rule of brainwashing: don’t talk about brainwashing.

“No,” Jacob replies finally, turning back to his rifle to start cleaning it piece by piece.

Pratt moves over to the assault rifles and starts taking stock. “Rook said yes, though. He’s one of you now.” 

Jacob huffs out a short disdainful laugh. “The deputy is weak,” he says, like it’s the only explanation he needs to give for why he wants Rook dead. “If he wasn’t John’s pet project I would’ve culled the herd long ago.”

Done with the assault rifles, Pratt moves over to the pallets of ammunition set back against the wall.

“And what happens to me once Rook’s dead? I doubt John will be too happy.”

“You’re a tool, Pratt. If you get broken there’s always someone to replace you,” Jacob says in that detached tone Pratt has grown so used to.

“Of course, sir,” Pratt replies and slides a single pistol round into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah, sorry it's so short but more will be coming soon. Probably maybe.


End file.
